


this one's the worst part

by idaate



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, hellevator: the fic, momota and ouma at each others necks with soft jazz elevator music in the bg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idaate/pseuds/idaate
Summary: [ MAJOR V3 SPOILERS ]Momota and Ouma ride an elevator through hell together.





	this one's the worst part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grayimperia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/gifts).



The spaceship crashes into the ground and Momota feels himself being thrown out, out of the chair and into the cushiony soft carpet floor of an elevator and breaking past one plane of reality to the next. He coughs once, four times, and not a drop of blood rolls off his tongue, so that’s a change for the better. If  _ dead  _ can be considered better, of course, but, well.

He stands up on shaky legs and leans on the wall behind him in order to catch his balance. His knees are knocking together an embarrassing amount. “H-hello?!” he says, and curses the stutter in his voice. “Is anyone there?”

There’s no answer.

There _is_ an eye hole on the elevator doors that take up a portion of the wall in front of him, though, even though they’re _elevator doors_ and how the fuck must that work, this in an elevator and not some tiny apartment with buttons lining the walls. He has to crane his neck up slightly to peer through it, but it doesn’t prove to actually be any sort of use when all that greets him is an inky oblivion. He rocks back on his heels and curses.

The rest of the elevator is plain for the most part - unmarked buttons next to the doors that act more like a taunting decor than anything else, while the rest of the walls remain plain and empty. There is an emergency escape hatch on the roof, but carefully maneuvering himself to stand on the walls and push against it proves to him that it’s as much for decoration as the buttons are. Faintly, if he listens hard, he can hear a noise not unlike metal wires being pulled, and he comes to the conclusion that the elevator must be  _ moving,  _ though whether up or down or sideways or slanted is impossible to tell.

Religion isn’t Momota’s shtick, not by a long shot, but he vaguely remembers learning that one interpretation of hell is sitting alone in an elevator for all of eternity, starving on nothing. A boring end, for certain, and suddenly Momota gets why Ouma said being bored is a poison all in its own.

He yells, screams, kicks the doors and walls, but nothing changes. The elevator continues to move.

Momota lies on the ground, wonders if playing poker with Satan for his soul would be more interesting than this, and drifts off into something that can’t be called sleep.

 

.

 

“Oh! Hello, Momota-chan!”

Momota opens his eyes from not-sleep to see Ouma sitting cross legged in the corner of an elevator that’s a direct mirror of his own, and that’s when the faint notion of  _ maybe  _ being in hell turns into an  _ absolutely, positively, definitely  _ in hell.

“Hey, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to someone!” Ouma pouts, and Momota groans as he shakes his head and realizes he spoke his thoughts aloud. “And here I was, all excited to see Momota-chan again. I missed you when I died, you know! Though my beloved Saihara-chan would have been preferable, he wasn’t choking himself to death on pepto bismol, was he?” He laughs a tinkly laugh, and Momota’s tempted to jam his fingers into the buttons again in hopes that the elevator doors will shut shut  _ shut,  _ even if he knows it won’t work, even if he knows it’s absolutely hopeless.

“How’d you find me?” he finally settles on after righting himself up to mimic Ouma and sit criss cross applesauce (what the fuck was this, grade school) with his hands on his knees. Ouma wiggles a finger and winks.

“Why, it was  _ fate  _ that brought us together, don’t you know?” he sings. “Yeah,  _ don’t  _ you know, dummy? People  _ always  _ ship the hero and the villain together, the protagonist and their rival. That sort of a bond isn’t so easy to break off just like,” he snaps his fingers, “that! So-rry!”

“Okay,” says Momota, and tries not to think too hard. “Okay.”

“Okay!” Ouma grips his ankles and rocks from side to side, throwing Momota’s words back at him tauntingly. “What’s up on your end, Momota-chan? Did something go terribly, horribly wrong and now  _ everyone  _ is dead? Or were you just lame enough to die all on your own?”

“Just,” Momota rotates his wrists, “just me.”

“Oh!”

The silence between them hangs like heavy fog, but Momota can’t think of anything to say and Ouma doesn’t seem all that interested in carrying the conversation along himself, so that was going to remain that way. Instead, for once, he just sits and observes Ouma. The boy looks fuller in death than he did in life, but then again, the last impression he had of him was as fragile and frail as a doll, trembling from poison and blood loss. Momota didn’t exactly look the most flattering in his last moments, either, (at least, from what he could see in the reflection of the porthole of the spaceship) so he can’t hold some sort of weird grudge against Ouma for that reason.

There are many other reasons, probably. Yeah.

The elevator doors hum and move together ever-so-slightly, signalling that they’re about to close. Ouma waves and grins from his corner. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Momota-chan, but it seems that we must part!” He puts his hands dramatically to his chest. “Know that I will carry my memories of you in my heart, forever and always. You are the Romeo to my Juliet, the Lup to my Barry.” 

Ouma blows a kiss and flutters his lashes just as the elevator doors inch closer together a little bit more.

Momota pauses for a moment, three, four, and then stands up and steps over the threshold of his elevator to Ouma’s.

The smaller boy’s eyes widen, which brings a sickly feeling of satisfaction to Momota’s stomach. “W, what are you  _ doing?”  _ he hisses with a grin that doesn’t match.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Momota says. “I figured that I’ll lose my mind a lot slower if there’s someone else in here with me. Even if that someone is you.”

“Well, don’t  _ I  _ get a say in how I want to spend the rest of my eternity?” Ouma curls his fingers like the useless talons they are, and his smile becomes softer and faker. “I was very content spending my time the way I was before you came along.”

“I’m sure you were.” Momota takes a seat in the furthest corner from the door, the one that wasn’t occupied by Ouma. “You’ll just have to be content spending it with me, then.”

The elevator door closes sharply, too fast for the smaller boy to reach in and stop it, and Momota chases down any regret he might have had with the hums that come out of Ouma’s mouth.

 

.

 

“Hey, did you ever see those action movies where an elevator gets stuck? And, like, the people inside have to be helped as they climb out onto another floor. Sometimes they even have to try and climb through the roof of the elevator. And  _ sometimes,  _ the string to the elevator just goes and snaps and they’re absolutely screwed as they go plummeting down to their dooms! Liiiike,  _ splat!  _ Liiike, me!”

Momota glances over at Ouma, who lays eagle spread on the floor, facing the ceiling without a care in the world. To be fair, they don’t really  _ need  _ to have cares anymore. The thought makes Momota shudder, and Ouma grins. “Oh? Not a fan of those films?”

“I, uh,” he curls his lip, stretches. “Y, yeah. No thanks.”

“Mm. A pity.” Ouma sighs dramatically. “I was thinking we could do one of those, you know, those scenes where we push up that little door on the top of the elevator,” he motions upwards at the ceiling, “cause before my beloved Momota-chan came along, I was just a helpless little boy, with a body too tiny to reach the top of the elevator, no matter how much I tried to scale these walls.”

“I thought Shuuichi and Amami were your beloveds,” Momota says, struck with the visual of Ouma scaling the walls like a demonic version of Spiderman, “and sorry to let you down, but I tried opening that shit up in my elevator and it is sealed pretty fuckin’ tight. As in, I’m pretty sure its just for decoration. A fake door, fake decor kinda stuff.”

“Mm! As fake as you, Momota-chan!” Ouma sighs dramatically before Momota can protest that isn’t  _ Ouma  _ the fakest one in this relationship? “Ah, well. Maybe we’ll get another chance in another life! Or death, in our case.” Ouma hums the opening of a show to himself. “Hey, did you ever get stuck in an elevator before, Momota-chan? Did you have to climb out, and that’s why you’re not a fan?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, sorta, not to me,” says Momota, like an afterthought, “but I remember it happening to my brother.”

Ouma stares through him and it takes Momota a couple seconds to realize that he doesn’t  _ have  _ a brother, that the Super High-School Level Astronaut never, ever has had a brother.

_ ( “oh, it happened, it happened to me, once.” _

_ “it happened to  _ you?  _ my brother, whom i know?! holy shit!!! that’s. that’s fucking wild.” _

_ “yeah, it happened to me at the--” ) _

“Momota-chan? Mo-mo-ta-chaaan! It’s very very  _ rude  _ just to drift off as someone is speaking to you! I was just explaining the plot of my vore fanfic, too…”

Momota shoots Ouma a glare. “What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you.”

“No, no, it’s really good!” Ouma waves his hands in front of his face. “See, see, the  _ elevator  _ is kinda like a human? Or it’s a person transformed into a mode of transportation, just like that cat who turned into a car, but  _ yeah,  _ we’re just in someone’s soft and squishy tummy right now!” 

Ouma taps the floor next to him while still staring at the ceiling, and Momota thinks he’s going to be sick. Good thing he has absolutely nothing to throw up. “I fucking hate being stuck here with you.”

“Mm, regretting stepping into my elevator are you now, Momota-chan?” The smaller boy stands up and skips on over to the eye hole, peering through it and probably seeing nothing.  _ “Well,  _ I did warn you! You brought this all upon yourself, you know!”

Momota groans in response.

 

.

 

When there’s a rapid rapping on the other side of the elevator doors, Ouma jumps up like he’s been shot and Momota doesn’t blame him, not when the rapping sounds like gunfire, to boot. Momota feels chills down his spine and they both stare at the eye hole on the elevator doors, even though there’s probably nothing there anyways. 

‘Probably’ ends up being the wrong answer, because Momota shoves Ouma to the side despite the younger boy’s whines and finds Iruma scowling on the other side of it. She sees him too, apparently, because at the same time that he says “Iruma?!” her muffled “holy fuck if it isn’t public enemy purple spiky dildo number one” floats through and he feels like he’s going to faint. He steps away from the eye hole, not feeling strong enough to look through it.

He looks at Ouma just as Gonta’s voice adds itself to the fray. “W, who is that, Iruma-san?”

“It’s  _ Momota,  _ idiot,” she says, and Ouma presses himself in the corner closest to the elevator doors so that if they open, he’ll remain out of view. “I mean, that is Bromota over on the other end, right? Or are you his sex doll counterpart?”

“Y, yeah, I’m the original,” Momota says as Ouma makes a slitting motion across his neck. “Uhm. Just me here, ha! Holy fuck. Nice to see a fresh face here. Didn’t know you guys were still around.”

“How  _ around  _ can you get when you’re dead?” Momota can practically see her rolling her eyes in his mind’s eye, side-glancing at Gonta and mouthing  _ you see this guy?  _ under her breath. “Uh, but, hey! I guess. Long time no see.” Another pause that has them both flubbering. “I was gonna frame ya for murder, huh? Sorry ‘bout that, though I guess it didn’t matter in the first place ‘cause you ended up in this shithole anyways.”

“Uh, well,” Momota scratches his neck. “I’d say no harm done, but, well.”

“It’s cool cool, Big Dick plunged himself deep into my ass with karma, we’ve been over that already.” Gonta stutters from the other end, and Iruma cackles. “C’mon, say fuckin’ something! Wasn’t this the guy who was defending you to death’s gates and back, over there? Wanna thank him?”

“Oh!” Gonta sputters, and Ouma looks like it’s taking everything in him to either not throw up or make a scathing remark at Gonta’s expense. “Gonta’s extremely grateful for. For that.”

“No problemo, bud.”

“If you don’t mind Gonta’s asking, then,” Gonta makes a nervous noise that sounds like it’s coming from the far recesses of his throat, “how...how did you end up in here? We only know as far as what happened up to, well,” when Gonta died, “but nothing beyond that.”

“Uh, y’know,” Momota smacks his lips, “shit hit the fan, Ouma said he was the Mastermind--”

“No  _ way!”  _ Iruma gasps. “That little shota? That--  _ ooooh  _ fuck! Holy fuck. I could’ve killed him. Fuck!” She swears and there’s the noise of something being banged against the elevator walls, followed by more swearing and Gonta’s sputtering. “Big Dick, you’re a fucking tool!”

“He  _ said  _ it, he’s not actually the Mastermind.” Momota rolls his eyes and Ouma sticks out his tongue at him. “Even if he was, I...ended up killing him, actually. Which is why I’m here. Sort of.”

There’s an awkward stretch of silence before Iruma says too loudly, “Well, good on ya! We’re all stinky murderers here, then. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“Uh,” Momota doesn’t have the energy to explain the complications of Harukawa shooting him through the arm, of Ouma striking a deal, of laying under a hydraulic press and then helping the smaller boy do the same. “Yeah. Me neither. Say, did you meet anyone else, in here? Besides me, of course.”

“Nope!” Iruma’s lips make a popping noise. “Have your virgin eyes spotted anything, though? Like a certain. You know,” There’s a shaking breath from her end, and Momota can picture her twiddling her fingers together nervously. “Did...did Keebler kick the bucket yet?”

“Nah, he didn’t,” Momota says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize because someone else didn’t  _ die.”  _ Iruma snorts. “Holy fuck, grow yourself a pair.”

“Momota-kun,” Gonta cuts in nervously, “would you...would you be willing to travel with us? In the elevators, I mean.”

Momota’s throat grows tight.

“Oh, yeah!” There’s the noise of Iruma smacking herself across the forehead. “Yeah. Yeah. Big Dick wedged the doors earlier when our elevators came together. If you come over here, we can totally have an orgy going on!”

“I-Iruma-san!”

“Or not. Consent is important.” Iruma huffs. “But yeah, like, eternity is pretty boring spent alone, right? The more the merrier and whatever, and this kid is gonna want to talk more with you around. I know he’s been talking next to none here, but this is the most he’s talked in,” there’s a pause, “time is a fuck and nothing is real, so doesn’t matter anyways, but a  _ long time  _ is what I’m getting at. And you’ll probably grow lonely and full of undirected lust if you’re left alone for a while.  _ Trust  _ me, just masturbating gets boring after a while.”

_ “Iruma-san!” _

“What? We’re already in hell, God can’t put me down any further, no matter how much I sin.” There’s a pause, and Momota works up enough courage to look through the eyehole again and see her shrugging. “So, whaddaya say? Wanna spend the rest of eternity with us?”

Ouma makes a shooing motion at Momota, like he’s chasing away an annoying dog. When Momota thinks about it like that, actually, Ouma probably  _ does  _ see him like that.

Well, whatever.

“No, I’m good.” Momota puts his hands behind his head, and Ouma pouts and makes his shooing motions more exaggerated. “I like the lonely and high road, I guess? Fits me.”

Gonta protests briefly, but Iruma says “Well, suit yourself!” and as if on cue, the elevators begin to creak. “Whoops, seems that our time has been cut short. It was nice hearing from you, dildo man! Hopefully we’ll see each other again, then?”

“Y, yeeaaah!” Momota waves at the eyehole, and Ouma’s look can kill.

“Goodbye, Momota-kun!” Gonta says. “Gonta will miss you!”

“I’ll miss ya too, bud!”

The elevators pick up speed and move in opposite directions, hiding Iruma and Gonta from the view of the eye hole as their farewells slowly fade away. Momota pointedly doesn’t look at Ouma as the smaller boy stares and stares and stares through him.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Ouma finally says, once there’s no way in hell (ha!) that either Iruma or Gonta could overhear him. “You really liked Gonta-chan, didn’t you? I’m not sure how you felt about Iruma-chan, but after dealing with  _ me,  _ she would have been a walk in the park, right?”

Momota pulls at his goatee, looking at a corner and wishing there were cobwebs in it. “You’d never last without me.”

“What is there to  _ last  _ for?” Ouma’s lips curl. “Momota-chan, I know you’re an idiot, but even  _ you  _ can tell we’re just trapped in a little elevator for the rest of eternity, right? This is our hell. Hell - you know, where the very worst of the worst of the worst of people go. There’s nothing to do here, and there never will be.”

Momota pops his lips. “You know, I considered you a lot of things, Ouma,” he says, “but I  _ never  _ took you for a quitter.”

“Well,” Ouma rocks on his heels, a smile that’s  _ fake fake fake  _ stretching across his face as scheduled, “couples learn new things about each other all the time, you know! So perhaps we’re just filling the quota with this?”

He flips Ouma off.

 

.

 

Fingers clasp around his throat one day (if time could be measured like that) when he’s not-asleep, and he opens his eyes to see Ouma looming over him with a face like a paper sheet. He doesn’t move a muscle - the threat of death has already become a null and void sort of thing. 

Neither of them breathe a word for a long time as the elevator slowly rumbles either up or down, and Momota is painfully aware of how cold Ouma’s fingers are. Is his skin as cold? If so, he certainly doesn’t feel it. But, then again, Ouma hasn’t complained once about the cold, so maybe it’s not a thing a person can feel themself? Momota’s fingers tense up gently, out of Ouma’s sight.

“Well? Are you going to do anything?” Ouma finally says, expression unchanging. 

“Why should I? It’s not like anything will matter if you kill me,” actually they didn’t know, he didn’t try that stuff out yet, “though even if you could, it wouldn’t matter in the first place. You’re not a killer. Murderphobic, right?”

Ouma’s fingers grow tighter around his neck, and shadows begin to dance across his face, as demonic (or perhaps even more so) as it had appeared in life. “Hmm, is that right?” he hisses, purrs, voice laced with malice. “You know,  _ Momota-chan,  _ I’m a liar. The very best one, actually. And even if I wasn’t, everything about us both was fake in the first place, right? About us all. How do you know that things aren’t different now that I’ve got more memories at my disposal?” His rabbit stiff fingers grow tighter still. 

“Don’t give me bullshit about memories defining you.” Momota snorts and it hurts just a little bit. “You’re the last person I wanna hear that from.”

Ouma’s eyes narrow, and in this light his hair looks as white as snow and his skin as black as oblivion. “I have no reason to say I hate death. After all, I’m  _ evil,  _ purely and absolutely so, even if I’m not a supreme leader. That’s just the sort of person I am.”

“Okay, then,” says Momota, and he has to pause to catch his breath around Ouma’s knuckles. “Kill me.”

“So you’re just giving up, then?” Ouma laughs, almost disbelieving. “Wow, Momota-chan, some sort of hero you are! Giving up without a single fight to the villain. If this was a television show, you’d ruin countless dreams of children.”

“It’s only losing if you kill me,” Momota points out.

Ouma stands stock still for two seconds, three, and then lets go, scowling, blank. “You’re really the worst person alive, Momota-chan,” he singsongs, tightening his scarf around his own neck to the point that Momota is sure it mustn’t be easy to breathe.

He doesn’t bother pointing out to the smaller boy that neither of them are alive in the first place, and instead turns over and tries to go back to not-sleep.

 

.

 

At first Momota thinks he’s imagining it, because his mind plays all sorts of tricks now. Sometimes he thinks the elevator stops, goes sideways, rushes up and then down again and continues its steady monotonous climb upwards. He knows it's fake because he looks at Ouma and says “did you feel  _ that,”  _ and Ouma says “feel what?” But, then again, Ouma’s a liar, so everything is null and void in the first place. 

So when the elevator shudders, he closes his eyes and tries not to think about it too much. When it stops, he pinches them tighter still.

When he hears the squeaky noise of the door  _ opening,  _ he blinks and sits up and expects to see more dead friends (if they could be called that) walking and instead gapes as the door opens up to a long hallway. With the iconic ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ at the end, of course.

“Holy shit, Ouma,” he says, “I think this is our way out.”

Ouma puts his hands behind his head and snorts. “Momota-chan, you really  _ are  _ as gullible as ever, huh!”

“Hey, fuck you,” says Momota, and rubs the back of his head. “I. Was this purgatory, then? Have we spent our time?”

“No, Momota-chan!” Ouma stares at him with wide, doll eyes. “Haven’t you learned yet? This is all a trap, of course! That’s how they get you. You think you’ve done it, you’ve spent time with your own personal Satan,” he presses a hand against his chest and flutters his eyelashes, “and now, this is your redemption, huh! That’s what you think, and then you go and walk and walk till you think you’ve reached freedom, but oops! Either it’s like in those cartoons, where you walk into the thin air before standing there comically for a few seconds in confusion and then plunge to your doom onto giant super sharp spikes,  _ or  _ the hallway just keeps on going! Forever and ever and ever and ever, and it’s just  _ super  _ boring, you know?”

Momota stares at Ouma. “Or,” he says slowly, “instead, we’ve finally spent our time in purgatory, and it’s time to get out of this hell.”

“See, you  _ admitted  _ it’s hell, not purgato--”

“You  _ get  _ what I meant.” Momota throws his hands into the air. “Everything is hell. You’re hell, I’m hell, we eat the hell, whatever.”

“If you’re so convinced this isn’t hell, then, Momota-chan,” Ouma rocks back on his heels, “can you sell to me the idea that we somehow  _ both  _ deserve to go to heaven? I mean,” Ouma grins and motions at himself once more, “even if  _ I  _ didn’t do all the horrible things I did, I’m that thing that you seem to despise  _ so  _ incredibly much, huh? That’s reason enough for some people.”

Momota rubs the back of his neck, scowling. “This isn’t gonna turn into some sort of compliment session or exchange or whatever, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“Of course! I’d never note how beautiful and muscular and gorgeous you are, Momota-chan! Not your cute spiky hair, not your sparkly pretty purple eyes, nope!” Ouma tucks his hands under his chin and flutters his lashes. Momota resists the urge to punch him.

“I just,” he cracks his knuckles and looks anywhere but Ouma, “listen, are there many reasons that you  _ should  _ be going to hell? Like, fuck, religion’s weird and I’m no Angie, but isn’t there a whole forgiveness aspect to it? And stuff? And sure, you did some shitty things, but if everyone who did shitty things went to hell then heaven would be empty as fuck.”

“Then, maybe it is!” Ouma puts his hands behind his head. “There’s no proof heaven even exists at all, Momota-chan! You can’t forget that, can you?”

“This is working on the assumption that it is, right? If there’s a hell, then there has to be a heaven.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want!”

Momota sighs. “I just. You were trying to stop people from dying, right? And no killing is you entire thing, right? We just discussed this.”

“Hmm…” Ouma taps his chin. “You’re trying, but too hard! No killing sure is a commandment, but so is no lying, and. Well.” He laughs. “About that. And, and! Even if that wasn’t the case, they say that it’s harder to get to heaven than it is to pull a camel through a threading needle, which isn’t the easiest thing in the world! And  _ that  _ isn’t a lie.”

“W, well,” Momota sputters, “fuck you. If I can go to heaven, so can you.”

There’s a long frustrated pause before Ouma says “okay, you were never going to convince me in the first place, so let's strike a deal together.”

Momota starts. “A...a deal?”

“Yeah! Clear your ears of wax, Momota-chan!” Ouma puckers his lips. “If you promise that you’ll,” another pause, “how should I put this, hm! Make...make a splash in my life, Momota-chan! Or death, I suppose. Once we get to heaven, if that’s what you believe is there, then that’s what I want to do. With  _ you.” _

“What,” Momota’s eyes narrow, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“That’s up to you!” Ouma winks. “You’re the one who has to do the splashing, after all!”

“Are you…” The gears in Momota’s head turn, however slowly, “are you just. Trying to make up an excuse for your own sake? So you can go over there with me?” Then, “There. There are going to be others in there, probably. From our game.”

Ouma snorts and slaps Momota on the back, pushing him out of the elevator and into the hallway. There’s a brief, panicked moment where Momota hears the elevator doors shutting behind him sharply and  _ did Ouma get left behind, that little fucking shit-- _

But no, Ouma’s standing there, as pretty and terrible as ever, hands creeping onto Momota’s neck with a devilish grin on his face. “Well, then, Momota-chan!” he sing songs. “Impress me, alright?”

Momota grabs the hand closest to his face and kisses it, smug at the surprised noise the gesture brings from Ouma. “I’ll try my fuckin’ best,” he says.

He turns, and neither of them let go of each other as they walk down the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha ha this is a week+ late, but I do hope this belated birthday gift was enjoyed nonetheless! I cycled through like 10 different ideas before settling on this one aha
> 
> I wasn't too happy with the final scene but I really wanted to get this out fdsfds 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed!


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